


(Sweeter than the Sweetest) Cherry Pie

by pearbean



Category: Bernard and the Genie
Genre: Christmas, Fix-it fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearbean/pseuds/pearbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's still something missing from Bernard's life, and it turns out it isn't a girlfriend. Or the Mona Lisa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Sweeter than the Sweetest) Cherry Pie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doyle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doyle/gifts).



"Two million, five hundred thousand pounds. Do I hear two million-six? Do I hear two million, six hundred thousand, ladies and gentlemen? No? Selling now, at two million, five hundred thousand, to the lady in green. Going once, going twice... and sold!"

The hammer fell and Bernard could practically feel Mrs Cunningham beside him vibrating with excitement. She turned huge eyes to him, mouth open in shock.

"Lot fourteen sold for two point five million pounds to the beautiful lady in green. Thank you very much, madam... and moving on now to lot fifteen..."

Occasionally Bernard remembered something that he wished that he'd wished for, while he still had a genie around to help him out with things like that. Today he mostly wished he'd thought to wish for a closed circuit TV system in Mr. Pinkworth's office so that he could actually _see_ the look of constipated anger that was bound to be crossing his face right about now.

Mrs Cunningham clasped her hands. "Oh, Mr. Bottle! Two million!"

Bernard grinned, "Two and a _half_ million, Mrs Cunningham, and most of it yours."

"A quarter to you and a quarter to charity. I remember our deal, Mr Bottle. Wealth hasn't changed me."

"Oh give it time," Bernard said, "It's only been, what, thirty seconds!"

"And to think that was hanging in my dining room for forty years and I never even knew." Mrs Cunningham took Bernard's arm, and they moved towards the back of the Sotheby's auction room, past the cool-looking woman in the green silk dress.

"George always told me it was a Picasso and I thought he was pulling my leg," Mrs. Cunningham went on and they headed towards the cashier to pick up Bernard's own purchase from the auction that day. She was a rather bored looking girl with unmistakeable leanings towards art college, judging by the leg-warmers.

"Now, you really must let me take you out for dinner somewhere nice," Mrs. Cunningham tried to insist.

"Oh no, there's really no need," Bernard protested, ducking his head as he handed his ticket number and his auction paddle across to the cashier, along with a nandful of cash. "I didn't do this purely out of the goodness of my heart you know."

Mrs Cunningham swatted him with her auction catalogue. "You came right out with it frankly and told me, 'Mrs. Cunningham, I think this is worth a lot of money.'"

The cashier had taken the money and disappeared behind a curtain into the next room, returning with a frame and a faint look of disgust as she took in the painting contained within it.

"You could have come in and bought it from me for a hundred pounds, like this ghastly thing," Mrs Cunningham went on, taking in the newly-purchased painting and, coincidentally, the cashier, with a single wave of her arm, "but you didn't."

"But you're giving me some of the money," Bernard said, "Really there's no need--"

"You didn't even ask for half," she said. "I hope I'm at least going to be able to get you to come out to my little Christmas soiree tomorrow night to let me thank you."

"So, do you want this, or not?" the cashier continued, turning the painting round to them. "Don't know why you would." It was a rather sentimental portrait of two small ginger and white kittens done in oils. Their shiny eyes stared out from perfect painted fluff and a sea of the most exquisite and dewy roses ever to grace an English lady's still life.

"Aww," Bernard said, gazing at it.

Mrs Cunningham's face showed pained displeasure. "Really, Mr. Bottle, I can't understand why you wanted it at all. It's quite dreadful."

"Oh I agree, it's horrible," Bernard said, "But I didn't buy it because _I_ liked it."

"Please tell me you're going to burn it?" the cashier asked, hopefully.

"No, nothing like that," Bernard replied, smiling. "I just know someone who'd really love it, and it would make a great Christmas present. Just in case. D'you think you could wrap it in paper for me?"

* * *

The decorations had been up in the streets for weeks already, lights hanging over the street slung between the buildings, and every shop display festooned with baubles and tinsel, sprinkled with fake snow. Bernard's quick, hopeful glance heavenward revealed nothing more than a miserable drizzle.

Bernard tucked his chin deeper into his scarf and pushed his hands into the pockets of his duffle coat, shouldering between the shoppers flowing down the pavement, ricocheting off carrier bags. The painting, wrapped carefully in brown paper, was tucked under one arm.

The shop was tucked away in an alley just off the main thoroughfare, but it would be impossible to guess that it was there without the faded signboard that stood at the alley mouth declaring "Claudia's antiques".

The bell jingled when he pushed the door open, and the musty, dusty smell of old things drifted into his nostrils. The shop was empty except for the sound of someone near the back of the shop, rustling things. "Hello?" he called, tentatively.

"Hello?" a voice called from the back of the shop. "Come in, I don't bite, honestly. Be right with you." The rustling stopped and a blonde head peered around the side of one of the shelves.

"Oh! Bernie. It's you." She sounded relieved. Bernard advanced further into to the room. "I'm right in the middle of something," she carried on, "You know where everything is."

Claudia collected lamps and lights; standard lamps and candlestick holders and lanterns and hurricane lamps and candelabras and oil lamps. Bernard stopped by often enough that she kept her newest aquisitions aside for him until he'd had a chance to have a look.

This time, a majority of the new lamps wouldn't have looked out of place in the hands of Florence Nightingale. There were only three lamps that interested him, all of which were sure to be snapped up as props for pantomimes by any self-respecting Aladdin stage manager if they didn't pan out for Bernard.

He picked up the first one, weighty in his hands, and covered with an intricate geometric design. He checked to make sure that Claudia wasn't watching, and surrepticiously rubbed it with his sleeve, braced for possible explosion.

Nothing happened. Bernard sighed, and put it aside, picking up the next one, which was tarnished silver. Rubbing it with his sleeve did nothing more than leave a thin coating of grime on his coat that didn't seem like it was going to come off again without the application of some nice chemicals.

The third lamp was larger than the others, and it might have just been Bernard's imagination, but he did think that it seemed heavier than it looked. Using his other sleeve, the clean one, he gently rubbed the side of it, and held his breath.

The bell above the shop door jangled, making Bernard jump and release the breath he'd been holding in a rush. The lamp, however, remained as inert and genie-less as before. He set it down again beside the others.

"Hello?" Claudia called from the back in response to the bell. "Come in, I don't bite, honestly. Be right with you. Unless that was you leaving, Bernie," she added as an afterthought, "In which case, you might've said goodbye!"

"No, no, you've got a real, live customer," Bernard said, smiling at the couple who had just entered the shop and were now looking around. Claudia emerged from behind her bookshelf, wiping her hands on a cloth. "You still didn't find the one you're looking for, Bernie?"

"Afraid not," he said, a little sheepishly. He'd begun to realise that he probably never would.

* * *

It had already been dark for several hours when Bernard reached home. The lobby was empty except for Kepple, who seemingly stood ready to man the lift twenty-four hours a day.

"Don't you ever go home, Kepple?" Bernard asked, as Kepple opened the lift door for him. They stepped in, finding room alongside the Christmas tree. The fairy lights twinkled happily, shining off the brass buttons of Kepple's uniform.

The lift doors closed, and Kepple pressed the button for Bernard's floor firmly with his thumb, keeping his face turned to the indicator lights with fierce and dutiful determination. "Well, sir, I could," he said, "But it would put my wife and children in ever such terrible danger."

"You're married, Kepple?" Bernard said, surprised. He'd not once heard of Kepple's wife in all the years he'd been living in the flat.

"Oh, I'm not, sir." Kepple said. "Couldn't risk it, what with the Russians keeping a round the clock watch on me."

"The Russians?" Bernard said, despite himself, as the lift came to its usual halt between the third and fourth floors. Bernard stood patiently while Kepple elbowed it and it jerked back into life with a complaining whirr.

"Oh yes, sir, on account of the time I spent behind the iron curtain," said Kepple. "I was quite a notorious figure in my day, you know, Mr. Bottle. Oh, it's a terrible place, being out in the cold, no one to rely on but yourself for survival, afraid that any wrong step, any inconsistency, might give you away to the enemy."

"Good lord, Kepple, is that true?"

"Actually sir... No. Not exactly. " They arrived at Bernard's floor and Kepple drew open the lift door. "It's just that I don't like to go home when it's so quiet and lonely-like. Well, surely much like yourself, Mr. Bottle."

Bernard looked away down the quiet corridor towards his own front door and his empty flat. "Quite," he said in a small voice. "Well, goodnight, Kepple."

"Goodnight, sir." Kepple adjusted his cap, and closed the lift doors to descend, leaving Bernard alone.

* * *

Something startled Bernard out of the light doze he had fallen into, head craned at an awkward angle against the back cushions of the sofa. He sat up, frowning.

The rather lacklustre drama that he'd been watching seemed to have transformed into Newsnight without him noticing. Not feeling strong enough to be exposed to Paxman at such a relatively late hour, Bernard switched the TV off.

His cup of tea had gone cold on the coffee table. Since all he had left in his fridge was half an inch of milk and a wrinkly onion, he felt obliged to try to drink it for the sake of having consumed _something_ that didn't come delivered in a cardboard carton.

He'd got as far as the microwave when there was a tremendous crash from the hall, and the sound of something delicate breaking into lots of tiny little pieces.

Leaving his tea on the side, he snuck past the umbrella stand and snaffled the scimitar out of it, heading on mostly-silent feet towards the front door at the foot of the stairs. Raising the sword above his head with one hand, he stretched his other hand out gingerly towards the doorknob.

Before his fingers reached it, there came a heavy knock. Bernard licked his lips nervously and leant forward to open it, not relaxing his grip on the weapon.

As soon as the door was open a crack, a small, thin looking marmalade cat shouldered its way through and ran past Bernard and up the stairs, closely followed by a second. Confused, Bernard relaxed his stance with the sword and turned slightly to watch it go.

The door was nudged open further, and thwacked gently against his shoulder. A large, velvety muzzle snuffled at his hand. Alarmed, Bernard pulled his hand back and stepped back from the door.

A donkey poked its head through the gap, and swivelled its sad-looking eyes up at his face. Bernard stared at it. Strangely, it didn't trouble him that it was there as much as he couldn't work out how on earth it had fitted into the lift.

"Hello?" came a deep voice from the hall.

"Oh, thank god there's someone human out there," Bernard said. "For a moment there I thought I was going out of my mind."

The donkey jerked as if being spurred from the rear, and pushed its way in. It slowly and rather indignantly clopped up the stairs, head dipping and bobbing as it picked carefully from step to step. The door swung fully open, and Bernard hastily propped the scimitar just inside the door when he saw who was at the front of the little group in the hall.

"Josephus!" he said, breathless incredulity in his voice. "It's you! You're really here!" He could feel the grin breaking across his face.

"Bernie!" The cry was delighted, and Bernard found himself swept into an enthusiastic hug and then back out again, one of Josephus' large hands on each of his shoulders.

"Oh, it's good to see you again!" Bernard said. "I didn't think I ever would, not really." He stepped back a little to take in the people huddled in the hall, behind the tall figure of his friend. "Is this your family?"

"Yes, this is my Mum, my Dad, my sister Mariam," Josephus said. "They can't understand a word I'm saying, of course. I'll just explain to them who you are." He turned to his family and gave them the explanation in Aramaic, while Bernard stood in the doorway watching.

Dawning comprehension crossed Josephus' Mum's face, and she regarded Bernard thoughtfully, before walking around him to inspect him from every angle. Then she stepped forward and pressed his face between her palms, lifting his gums to check his teeth.

"Don't mind her," Josephus explained at Bernard's flabbergasted expression. "She's a camel dealer. It's practically habit by now." Finally she stepped back and nodded at Josephus before rattling off her verdict.

"What did she say?" Bernard asked.

"You probably don't want to know exactly," Josephus said, "But she thinks you have excellent molars and a very pert bottom."

* * *

"You were right about Judas," Josephus said as they climbed the stairs up into Bernard's flat, Josephus' family trailing rather bewildered behind them, "When I got back I found out that the bastard had been having an affair with my girlfriend for months!" He shook his head sadly. "She said being with a disciple was more 'Rock-n-Roll'. All I can say is, if there wasn't enough rock in going out with a stonemason, then there was just no pleasing her."

"A stonemason?" Bernard said. "But what about the knife-throwing?"

"Stonemasonry was my day job," Josephus explained. "I thought I'd hit the big time when I got the paid gig knife-throwing, living the dream! But that was before I became a genie... And then didn't."

"So what _did_ happen when you got back?" Bernard asked, leading the way into the kitchen and nearly falling over a cat. He picked up the kettle and waved it questioningly at Josephus' sister in mime for "Would you like a cup of tea?" but she widened her eyes at him and hid behind Josephus' shoulder.

Bernard guiltily put the kettle on anyway, an instinctive reaction in a stressful situation. He tried hard not to be disconcerted by the fact that there was a donkey sticking its head through the bead curtain and nudging Josephus' Dad in the back.

"Well, magic was out, obviously. For me, at any rate. But it turned out that the wizard was a really big fan of post it notes and the lipstick and CDs and all the things I'd brought back. He decided not to stick me back in the lamp as a genie, and kept me around to show him how to work the stuff."

Josephus took the milk out of the fridge while Bernard got five mugs out of the cupboard. When Bernard reached up to the shelf for the teapot, a sudden look of comprehension crossed all the faces of Josephus' family, and they exchanged relieved glances.

"So, to cut a really long and quite boring story short," Josephus went on, "He ended up making a fortune out of his knock-offs of the things from the future. We had a little stall down at the bazaar and you won't believe how popular his Gucci handbags were."

"Oh, try me," Bernard said, smiling, as he poured the hot water into the kettle into the teapot.

"Kinky! Is that an offer or an order? And in front of my mother, too!"

Bernard rolled his eyes, and darted a quick glance at Josephus' Mum to make sure that had gone over her head. She seemed intent on the teapot for the time being, and quite oblivious to any innuendo.

"So how did you end up back here?" Bernard asked, "With your family, and the kittens and... the donkey?"

One of the kittens, whether Peewee or Eggbert Bernard didn't know, wound itself round Bernard's ankles and stared hopefully up at the carton of milk sitting on the countertop.

"The donkey!" Josephus said, "She's not just any donkey, this is Marjory." He threw his arm over Marjory's neck and patted her fondly. "I couldn't leave her behind, my ass is my best feature."

Smiling at that despite himself, Bernard poured out the tea and added the milk, passing the mugs around to his visitors.

"I do wish I had something else to give you all besides tea and onion," he said. "It's not terribly hospitable of me." He sipped his tea regretfully, and leant back against the kitchen counter.

"Don't even think of it," Josephus said. "I know you weren't expecting a family of five from first century Palestine to turn up on your doorstep."

"Maybe just hoping, a little," Bernard said. "So, how long are you here?"

"Well, about that," Josephus said. "I persuaded the wizard to send me back to collect some new things for him.

I wanted to bring everyone with me for a holiday, but the bloody wizard's a mean bastard and he wouldn't let me. So I tried to _bend_ the spell a little, you know... a small tweak here and an extra sprinkle of crocodile foreskin there.. and I think something went wrong."

"You're here for good, then?"

"Well. Yes. Maybe. Probably."

"Do they know?" Bernard asked, watching Josephus' sister who, having wandered out into the living room, was looking at the collected paraphanalia of the last year of Bernard's genie-less life. She picked up a snow-globe and shook it, smiling delightedly at the resulting blizzard around Big Ben.

"Not yet," Josephus said. "But I can't keep it from them for long."

"No," Bernard agreed. "No, you can't."

Josephus smiled tightly, and stepped out of the kitchen after his family. Bernard sighed and put the milk away.

"Bernie," Josephus said, a few minutes later, a questioning note in his voice, "Did you know there is a large fruit cake on your table?"

"A fruit cake?" Bernard asked. "No, there's no fruit cake." He came up behind the donkey to look at the table.

There was indeed a fruit cake sitting there.

"Josephus," Bernard said, excitedly. "Josephus, do you think there's the slightest chance you could still be a genie?"

"No, not even the tiniest weeniest little chance. The wizard didn't make me into a genie again. I never ended up in the lamp."

"But wait, no, you still remember being here," Bernard said. "You're still _you_. I wonder..." He looked around at the flat, eyes landing on a card tacked to the notice board above Bernard's desk, which cordially invited him to Mrs. Cunningham's Christmas drinks party.

He plucked it off the board and held it up.

"I wish Mrs. Cunningham was expecting us all for her soiree tomorrow night," Bernard said, and he and Josephus watched as the copperplate neatly re-folded itself to read "Mr. Bernard Bottle, Mr. Josephus and family."

They exchanged elated glances. "Well, that answers that question," Josephus said. "It appears that a genie is for life, and not just for Christmas."

"Quite so," said Bernard. "And now, I wish that everyone could speak English."

* * *

"I could really get used to this Christmas thing," Josephus said through a mouthful of his eighth mince pie. He sidled up to Bernard, who was standing by the open log fire looking at Mrs. Cunningham's Christmas cards. "Are you sure we're only allowed it once a year?"

"I'm sure," Bernard said, sipping demurely at his mulled wine. "Anyway, it'd probably spoil it to have it too often."

"That's true," Josephus said, philosophically. "Like eating too many Big Macs in a row. Remember when I tried to eat twenty--"

Bernard's face said that this was something Bernard hadn't needed or wanted to be reminded of. "Yes, just like that. Only with less vomiting, I hope."

"Yoo-hoo! Mr. Bottle!" Mrs. Cunningham's voice floated to them across the room, past the other party guests. They looked around and saw her standing in the doorway to the drawing room with another older lady, waving her hand to beckon them over.

"Mr. Bottle," she said when they reached her, "This is my sister Miss Milton. Sarah, this is Mr. Bottle, who helped me to sell my Picasso, you know. And this gentleman is his friend Mr. Josephus."

"Mr. Bottle, I've heard so much about you," Miss Milton said. "And Mr. Josephus, what an interesting name! Where is it that you are from?"

"First century Palestine," Josephus said, "My family and I just moved here recently. Today, in fact."

"And how are you finding London?" Mrs. Cunningham asked, without missing a beat.

"Oh I'm enjoying it very much," Josephus said. "This is a very charming party, and your pies of mince are truly excellent."

"Thank you ever so much for inviting us," Bernard said, earnestly.

"Oh you're quite welcome, Mr. Bottle," Mrs. Cunningham said. "Now, I must confess that I had an ulterior motive in asking you to come over here." She pointed to the ceiling. "We seem to be under the mistletoe. I believe that means that I'm owed a kiss?"

Bernard bowed. "I think I can help there," he said, leaning forward to kiss each of Mrs. Cunningham's cheeks.

"Thank you, Mr. Bottle! Now, Sarah and I really must mingle. Enjoy the rest of the party!"

"Oh, we will," Bernard said, as Mrs. Cunningham and Miss Milton moved off arm-in-arm.

Josephus was looking up at the bunch of mistletoe hanging inside the drawing room door with awe. It was a large sprig, tied with a red ribbon.

"Bernie, this is _brilliant_! Why didn't you tell me about this before? I can kiss anyone I want, as long as they're under a bunch of this crazy plant?"

"It's an old winter custom," Bernard said. "If you catch someone under a sprig of mistletoe, then they owe you a kiss.

I think originally you were meant to take one of the berries for every kiss, then when all the berries were gone that was it. Most people seem to have forgotten that part, though."

"So why isn't everyone using this stuff, all the time? It's a fantastic idea!"

"It is, until some dirty old man at an office Christmas party decides to use it as an excuse to sexually harass people," Bernard said. "Most people avoid it like the plague nowadays."

* * *

Bernard returned from another foray to the buffet, anxiously scanning the party for any sign of Josephus or his family. It was easily a whole fifteen minutes since head seen or heard any of them, and quite a lot longer since he'd caught sight of Josephus. He was starting to get worried.

He found both of the genie's female relatives in the dining room.

Josephus' Mum was talking animatedly with an older man in a festive waistcoat decorated with holly and reindeer. As he got closer, Bernard began to hear snippets of the conversation, and suspected that he didn't actually want to know the exact price that Josephus' Mum was asking for Mariam. At least he felt that he could be sure that the gentleman in question was not likely to have that many camels easily to hand.

He made a mental note to discuss modern marriage customs and womens' rights with Josephus' Mum once they got back to the flat.

It was not hard to locate Mariam, on the other hand. She looked stunning in her floral print mini-dress, leather jacket and Doc Martens, and was more than half way to chatting up a very nice young man in an Armani suit.

The dining room and sitting room were completely free of Josephus, and Bernard began to imagine all the trouble a genie could get up to in someone else's expensively decorated house.

Only the drawing room was left without having to venture into Mrs. Cunningham's bedroom, which wasn't something Bernard even dared to contemplate. From the drawing room doorway, there was no visible sign of Josephus, or in fact any other guests at all, and Bernard's heart sank. He took one further step into the room, and immediately found himself tackled bodily by more than six feet of genie.

"Is this an ambush?" Bernard gasped from the floor, Josephus sitting gleefully astride him on the deep-pile carpet. Above him, past Josephus' left ear, Bernard caught sight of Mrs. Cunningham's sprig of mistletoe, and he suddenly realised why the drawing room was so deserted. He squeezed his eyes shut in recognition of the inevitable.

There was a change in the pressure against his stomach as Josephus leant forwards and his knees shifted against Bernard's sides. A blush suffused over Bernard's face, and something in his chest squirmed, he wasn't sure whether with nerves or anticipation.

Then Josephus's warm, dry lips were pressed to his own, and Bernard was being firmly and soundly kissed. He'd never kissed a man before, and he'd had the vague idea, if he'd even thought about it at all, that it would be more scratchy and less... comfortable. And warm. And kind of pleasant.

Josephus pulled away, but made no move at all to get up. "Mmm," he said. "You taste like that spicy wine."

Bernard opened his eyes slowly, face still hot, and stared up at the genie, who was watching him with a thoughtful expression and the beginnings of a blackened eye.

"Let me guess," Bernard said, "I'm not the first man you've kissed this evening."

"He didn't seem to know the rules," Josephus explained. "Is it not the custom that I can kiss anyone?"

"As far as I know, you can ask to kiss whoever you like." Bernard paused. "It's just that usually men expect that other men only want to kiss the women, I suppose."

"That seems very foolish," Josephus said. "I would only have kissed..." he did a quick mental calculation, "Eight people tonight, if I thought that way. Besides, who wouldn't want to kiss _this_?"

Bernard ignored the slight twist of his stomach at the news of the evening's tally. "Even so, you're supposed to give them the chance to say no, you know," Bernard said, "It's only fair."

Josephus looked at Bernard seriously, and from rather close proximity. "Would _you_ have said no?" he asked, concerned.

Bernard dropped his eyes from Josephus' face. "If you'd asked me before, then yes. I mean yes, I probably _would_ have said no." His gaze crept back up to check the genie's reaction to that. Josephus was watching him with a frown. Bernard went on hurriedly, "But if I'm being honest, and you asked me _now_..."

A grin dawned on Josephus' face and he glanced upwards. "Oh look! It appears that we are under a small but significant piece of mistletoe! Would you be terribly offended if I kissed you, as is customary in this situation?"

Bernard smiled back. "Now you're getting the idea."

Leaning closer with a lacivious smirk, Josephus raised one eyebrow. "May I use tongue?"

* * *

Christmas dinner had gone well, Bernard thought, probably all the better for no one having to cook it, or clean up the kitchen afterwards. There'd been a little of everything, turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing, roast potatoes, parsnips, sprouts. Bernard had even managed to set the Christmas pudding on fire without losing either of his or anyone else's eyebrows, so he'd counted that as a victory.

Afterwards, everyone collapsed on the sofa, too full to move, warm and comfortable. The remains of the dinner sat on the table, waiting for Bernard to have the presence of mind to wish them away or for Eggbert or Peewee to decide that turkey was they way to go.

Josephus' Dad was watching TV again, face blank, fuschia pink paper crown perched drunkenly on his head. Every few seconds, he hit a button viciously with his thumb to change the channel. Mariam was listening to her brand new walkman, her feet up on the coffee table. Josephus' Mum was snoring quietly in the arm chair, Peewee on her lap.

"Look," Bernard said softly to Josephus, and pointed out of the window. The roof of the building opposite was already covered in a layer of snow, it must have been falling for much longer than Bernard had been aware.

"Great, it's that cold stuff again," Josephus said. "I still don't get why you like it so much." He peered out of the window with a look of disgust.

"You mean, you didn't--"

"You're the one that makes the wishes, not me."

Josephus watched as Bernard pulled on his boots, then went to fetch his coat and scarf, face beaming with excitement. "Well, are you coming?" Bernard asked when he was done, bouncing a little on the tips of his toes.

"Oh no," Josephus said, "No. It's freezing out there!"

"I wish you had a good coat and scarf," Bernard said, and surveyed the result of his wish, a scarf adorned with tiny fairisle camels, with a pleased smile.

"I wish you had some gloves, and a pair of boots. And now," he said, standing in front of a properly attired Josephus with a grin and holding out a hand, "I wish you'd come outside with me so that I can show you why snow is so brilliant."

* * *

After they'd built a snowman with a penis of improbable size, Josephus seemed much more amenable to the snow, which was still falling thick and fast in great fluffy lumps. They ended up by the river, elbows leaning on the balustrade, staring down into the green and murky waters of the Thames.

"I'm glad you're here," Bernard said, glancing over at Josephus beside him before looking away as if somehow Josephus might laugh at him for it. "I'm glad you came back. I just wanted you to know that. You know, before you have to leave again. I'll make the wish whenever you want me to, you only have to ask."

Josephus stuck an arm out to tousle Bernard's snow-damp hair, before slinging an arm around his shoulders to drag him in against his side.

"When I got home," he said, "I saw my family, and Marjory, and Peewee and Eggbert, and I got to eat my mum's home cooking again... It was all great. But somehow, once I was there, I realised that instead of missing all those things, I just missed you."

Bernard swallowed, and pressed his face against Josephus' shoulder. There was a lump in his throat and his eyes felt suspiciously damp. Josephus was smiling at him when he looked up again.

"This place might be bloody cold, and I still don't understand the point of underpants or Cliff Richard, but you're here, and I'd really like this to be home, if you'll have me."

"But your family--"

"You saw how much my dad liked 'Carry on Cleo', didn't you? We'll work something out, even if we have to wish for them to come here every now and again."

They looked at each other in silence for a moment. "Some mistletoe would be handy right about now," Josephus pointed out. "Make a wish, or something."

"Oh, come here," said Bernard, and grabbed the front of Josephus' new coat, to drag him in for a hug.

One of Josephus' gloved hands came up to Bernard's face, and Bernard closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth. He didn't wonder where Josephus' other hand was until a handful of snow was suddenly shoved down the back of his neck.

Gasping in shock while Josephus cackled, Bernard looked up with a glint in his eye. "Oh, you're on," he said. "Let me teach you all about snowball fights."


End file.
